The pitch was still buzzing from the impossible display Dante had put on. The Rising Stars were panting, jerseys clinging to sweat-soaked bodies, while Dante stood almost eerily composed, only a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
Jason's words cut through the silence:
"Lesson one, boys. Talent isn't enough. Out there in the real world, you'll face monsters. Better get used to it."
The players shifted uneasily, stealing glances at Dante. Respect lingered in some eyes, but resentment burned brighter in others.
The tall midfielder, the same one who had mocked earlier, spat to the side. "One guy against fifteen? That's not football, that's circus tricks."
A few chuckled bitterly, nodding.
Dante didn't rise to the bait. He only adjusted his hoodie, calm eyes sweeping over the group. He could feel the weight of their judgment like arrows pressing against his skin.
Jason, catching the tension, smirked. "Circus tricks, huh? Funny. I don't recall clowns scoring three goals on you lot in five minutes."
Laughter erupted from the younger players, but it only deepened the scowls of the older ones.
Jason clapped his hands. "Enough. Shower, then locker room. We've got review before Team A comes in."
The Rising Stars filed off, muttering under their breath. Dante followed, shoulders loose but mind alert.
The locker room buzzed with the low hum of frustration, like a hive of angry wasps. Boots scraped against the tiled floor, water bottles cracked open, and the pungent smell of sweat clung to every corner. The Rising Stars had been humbled, and though no scoreboard officially recorded the scrimmage, everyone knew the outcome: one stranger had dismantled them.
Dante sat quietly on a bench near the corner, pulling off his boots, his breathing steady. The faint traces of red lightning still prickled under his skin before fading away. He could feel their eyes on him, resentful, curious, admiring. It was the same cocktail of reactions he had always drawn, ever since people realized he wasn't ordinary.
"Bro…" a wiry winger finally blurted, sliding onto the bench beside him. His grin was boyish, undimmed by defeat. "That was unreal. The way you moved it was like you split into three people at once! Teach me that step trick, yeah?"
Dante smirked faintly. "If you're ready to break your ankles trying."
The winger laughed, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the sharp tone of the tall midfielder. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked on Dante with cold disdain. "You think that was football? That wasn't skill that was some flashy street stunt. You didn't beat us with teamwork. You cheated the game."
A ripple of agreement stirred among a few older players, their pride too raw to accept what they'd just witnessed.
Dante finished tying his laces, stood slowly, and met the midfielder's glare without flinching. His calmness cut deeper than any insult. "If you think that, then face me again. Prove me wrong. Otherwise…" He shrugged. "…you're just noise."
The midfielder shot up, fury flashing in his eyes, shoulders squaring as though ready to swing. The atmosphere thickened, teammates caught between stepping in or letting the fight explode.
Then the doorway boomed with Jason's voice.
"ENOUGH!"
The room froze. Jason strode in, towel slung across his broad shoulders, his gaze fierce enough to cut steel. "You think I set this up to stroke your egos? Wrong. I did it to show you reality. Out there on the world stage, you'll face monsters. Stronger, faster, hungrier than you. If you can't handle being humbled in training, then leave your kit on the bench and walk out that door."
Silence. Nobody moved. Even the midfielder, fists trembling at his sides, dropped his eyes.
Jason scanned the room, then settled his attention on Dante. His expression softened, but only slightly. "Good work today. But don't get comfortable. What you faced out there?" He jabbed a thumb toward the Rising Stars. "That was the kiddie pool. Tomorrow, you'll swim with sharks."
The words lingered in the air, equal parts warning and promise.
Dante met Jason's gaze, a spark of fire lighting in his chest. He wasn't here to blend in. He was here to sharpen himself, to survive whatever storm was coming.
That night, Dante returned to his room apartment, exhaustion tugging at his muscles. But it wasn't physical fatigue that weighed him down, it was the echo of the hostility he had felt in the locker room.
He dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. He had proven himself on the pitch, but football wasn't just about skill. It was about trust, teamwork, belonging. And right now, he had none of those.
His phone buzzed. A message from his mother:
"I'm at Uncle Jason's now. He said I'll be safe here. Don't worry about me. Just focus on your training. Love you."
Relief washed through him, tempered by guilt. He texted back quickly before setting the phone aside.
But across the city, another phone buzzed.
In a dimly lit café, a man in a dark coat scrolled through a video on his device footage of Dante's scrimmage. His fingers paused on the frame of Dante disappearing in a blur of red lightning.
He smirked.
A woman slid into the booth across from him, her eyes sharp, her voice low. "So it's true. The bounty kid's alive."
The man nodded. "And hiding under Eternal Era's wing, of all places. Makes things interesting."
"Orders?" she asked.
"Observe for now. We need to know his patterns, his weaknesses. But soon…" His smirk widened into something darker. "…we'll collect the reward."
Back at the training grounds the next day, Dante stepped onto the pitch again, unaware of the eyes watching him from the shadows. The Rising Stars were already there, their chatter subdued, their glances sharper than before.
Jason blew his whistle. "Pairs. Passing drills. And Dante…" He pointed at the tall midfielder. "You're with him."
A ripple of tension cut through the team.
The midfielder's lips curled into a thin smile. "Perfect."
Dante met his gaze, calm and unshaken. The fire inside him only burned brighter.
If yesterday had been the kiddie pool, then today was the first step into deeper waters.